Monday, September 03, 2007

The lyrics describe the frustration of prolifically confessing your inner pain when your six-member, edit-crazy band will only let twelve of your poems reach the marketplace every four years. Poems you secretly know are shit. Ironically, the music is their loosest to date, gradually building off handclaps and giddy background chatter like some self-loathing hootenanny. "Loose" is relative, though; the song's so brief and the riffs so utilitarian you'd think they were aiming for Pink Flag. The air of novelty seems lost on Chester, whose marriage to a Playboy model sadly has had no audible effect on his sphincter.

--One last observation about "Bartender": T-Pain reveals in the second verse that his "T-Pain + 3" rendevous happens on a Wednesday night. Cuz its so hard to get in the club on Wednesday.